He Had It Coming
by Quicksylverbtgh
Summary: He had it coming, Kurt assured them.  He only had himself to blame.  Wherein Sam defends Kurt's honor, Kurt returns the favor, and Puck respects Kurt's badassness.  K  for Puck and Karofsky's dirty mouths.
1. He Had It Coming

Author's Note: Not mine. Just gently using before returning.

"Finn," a voice hissed as he was yanked through the open doorway of the janitor's closet.

"Dude, Kurt, what the hell?"

The male diva straightened his sleeve by way of apology. "Sorry, Finn, but I needed to talk to you privately."

"Okay?" This was making him a little uncomfortable. Kurt's eyes were doing that crazy, stalker look that they used to do before the Gaga fiasco. He backed up a step and nearly knocked over a delicately arranged stand of mops.

"Have you _seen_ Sam today?"

"This isn't about me?" His answer was a glare. "Oh, thank god. I mean…not that…" he finished with a helpless shrug.

Kurt rolled his eyes and continued onward. "I wouldn't have risked this kind of cliché if the matter wasn't bigger than the both of us. I repeat, did you see Sam today?"

"Yeah, sure. Why?"

"Did you notice his new haircut?" Kurt's foot began to tap, kinda like Rachel's did when she was waiting for one of her videos to upload.

Not really, Finn thought to himself. "I guess. He probably should get a new barber."

"Guess Karofsky will have to erase that job from his future employment options."

"The football team did this? But Sam's on the team."

"He's also getting tutored so he can stay on the team, remember?"

Of course Finn remembered. Sam had been over to the house every night this week. Something about a big test in Chemistry.

Kurt began to pace in what little space was available. "Sam made the mistake of telling them who his tutor was. And then, he stuck up for me when they inevitably started denigrating me. Like I am some damsel in distress that needs protecting from the mouth-breathers of McKinley!"

"Wow, Kurt, that really sucks for Sam." Never one to back down from a challenge, he added, "But you have to admit, it was kinda cool what he did."

"Of course it was cool. It was also chivalrous, brave, and totally moronic. Didn't you explain the social order to him?" Kurt rounded on Finn like it was his fault. Finn flinched and down went the mops.

"Yeah, but Sam mostly makes up his own mind about stuff."

"Well, there is nothing left to do about it then. I am just going to have to take matters into my own hands. Finn, can you get Puck to meet us after school?"

"As long as we don't make him late for football practice."

"This whole thing depends on him making it to practice. Now if you'll excuse me, I still need to get home and grab some tools before lunch is over."

"Okay?"

Kurt walked around him to leave. Finn started to follow him out, but a casual, "You should probably pick those up," stopped him in his tracks.

"Oh, man."

In the end, it was decided that Finn would play lookout, instead of Puck. After the story of Finn's desperate attempt to join the Cheerios squad had circulated, it was totally believable that he would want to mope around the field like a fucking wussy. Or at least that was what Puck had said. Puck could skip practice and no one except the coach would really care. There also wasn't any danger that the players would realize Puck was Kurt's accomplice. Only Glee, after all, knew the whole story behind the rash of car problems that had plagued the football and hockey teams all winter long. Burt Hummel had made a tidy profit last year and Puck had earned a sizable portion of it. The only part of this plan that sucked, Finn realized, was that the two boys wouldn't let him in on the prank. Kurt had said something about his deplorable acting skills. Puck just said they didn't want to give the game away.

Finn glanced down at his cellphone and sent the five minute warning bell. Soon enough, Coach Beaste sounded the whistle and the team headed for the showers. Poor Sam of the shaved head stood out like a sore thumb. He was also the last one into the locker room. The guys were totally going to regret picking on Sam, Finn vowed. He stowed his phone and ran for the parking lot.

He found Kurt and Puck waiting for him behind the dumpster. "Did you do it?"

"Look for yourself," Kurt pointed to Karofsky's pride and joy, his black Chevy truck. The truck was sitting on blocks. All four tires had mysteriously vanished.

"Sweet!" Finn crowed. "Where'd you put the tires?"

"In the dumpster," Puck answered.

"It seemed more fitting than writing 'White Trash' across their windshields," Kurt smirked in satisfaction. It was then that Finn noticed that they had gotten to every single football player's vehicle.

"This is epic, but they're going to know it was you, Kurt."

"So what? I'm tired of walking the higher ground, especially when these morons are hurting my friends."

"Shh!" Puck silenced them.

The first group of players wandered out of the locker rooms. "What the fuck?"

The boys had to duck down behind the dumpster when they couldn't contain their laughter. They watched as one by one the players' faces turned red in frustration. Karofsky even kicked his truck hard enough to knock it off the blocks and onto the concrete. Finn fell over, unable to breathe through his laughter.

When Sam, the last boy to leave the locker room, came out, the trio carefully schooled their faces and went to join him.

"Dude," Finn called to Karofsky. "What happened to your car?"

"Some punk thought he was being funny. I'll show him funny." Karofsky narrowed his eyes at Kurt, then at Finn, and finally at Puck. His eyebrows clashed against each other as he struggled to understand what was wrong with this picture.

"What is the meaning of this?" a voice shouted. Principal Figgins pushed his way through the gathering crowd.

"The football team has misplaced their tires, Principal Figgins," Kurt responded in his best apple-polisher voice. "And poor, dear Karofsky is going to need a new rim job."

"Who did this?" Figgins shouted, turning to glare at everyone in equal turns. "This kind of serious damage could result in expulsion if you don't come forward immediately."

No one was laughing now. The boys shifted guiltily, but refused to break ranks. Sam looked at each of them in turn, but also chose to keep his mouth shut.

"I don't get it, Santana," Brittney's voice carried over the hushed crowd. "Why would anyone throw away perfectly good tire swings?"

The students rushed as one towards the dumpster, but Karofsky hung back. A dim light was dawning on his face. "The fairy's balls finally dropped." Karofsky leaned in close enough that Finn could smell the Doritos he had had for lunch. "Too bad, because now I am going to have to fucking gut you, fag." He grabbed Kurt by his lapels and lifted him off his feet. "You never fucking learn. After all of the dumpster tosses, the pee balloons, the phone calls. Buy a damn clue Hummel." Each sentenced was punctuated by a shake.

Sam, Puck, and Finn all rushed to his defense, but Figgins, who had not moved with the rest of the student body, got there first. "Mr. Karofsky, let the boy go immediately."

Karofsky, caught by surprise, did as he was told. "Go to my office. I will see to you as soon as I am done sorting through this mess. We can then discuss with your parents your history of violent acts and your threat to bodily harm another student. I believe this is your third strike, is it not?"

Karofsky paled, but didn't move. "What are you waiting for? Go!" The boy broke into a shuffling run, only turning once to glare back at Hummel.

That was when Figgins turned on them. "Did you four boys have anything to do with this?"

"Sam and I were at football practice," Finn stammered. Finn was so glad he didn't have to lie.

"I was in the nurse's office," Puck held up an expertly forged pink pass.

"You know me, Mr. Figgins," Kurt smiled sweetly. "I hate to get my hands dirty." Finn didn't miss the subtle pat that Kurt gave his bag. Knowing Kurt, he had probably packed gloves and a matching cover-all for the job.

Figgins seemed reluctant to let them go, but barring any real proof, he was forced to turn his attention to the dumpster-diving jocks instead. "Assimov, stop that this instant," he yelled as he walked away.

"Dude," Puck shoved Kurt playfully. "You totally had that last bit planned."

"Don't call me 'dude', Noah. And of course I did." Kurt reached up to tug his jacket back into place. "Why else would I wear last year's Ralph Lauren?"

Finn couldn't resist reaching over to ruffle the boy's hair. He almost lost his fingers in the process, but it was totally worth it.

"You guys did all of this for me?" Sam finally spoke up.

"Glee has got your back," Finn swung an arm over Sam's shoulders and squeezed.

Sam beamed at the three of them. "Thanks you guys." He shrugged off Finn's arm and pulled Kurt into a hug. "Thanks, man. You didn't have to do that."

Kurt awkwardly patted him on the back before pulling away. "Karofsky had it coming. Really, he only had himself to blame." Kurt looked directly in Puck's face for a long, awkward moment before turning on his heel and heading to his SUV. He was whistling some song from _Chicago_ that Finn barely recognized, which meant he was probably in a good mood.

"Your step-bro is kinda scary, dude," Puck informed Finn. Finn just shrugged. Kurt was usually only scaring to other people, and besides, after meeting Burt, Kurt seemed like a kitten.

"In a good way," Sam added. He flashed another dimpled smile at them before jogging to catch up to Kurt.

Finn caught Puck rolling his eyes as he turned to face him. "Do you want to get some pizza? Kurt and Sam will probably just go back to the house and study."

"Sure," Puck sighed. "We can take my truck."

Finn was reaching for the door handle when he heard Puck swear in Yiddish. "Mother-humping-frog-eater," probably wasn't the right translation, Finn decided, before moving around the truck to investigate. He started laughing as soon as he saw what had made Puck curse.

"That little prick," Puck half-growled, half-laughed. Puck's precious truck still had all four tires, but the one on the driver's side had been slashed. Some helpful soul had laid out the spare tire, a jack, a tire iron, and a copy of _Basic Car Repairs for Dummies._ There was even a clean white towel draped over the windowsill.

Finn was still chuckling as he grabbed the book and started to flip to the section on repairing a flat tire. A single sheet of stationary was marking the page.

"Dear Puck," Finn read gleefully. "I didn't want Figgins to get suspicious, so I arranged this little scene. I hope you understand. Sincerely, Kurt."

"Whatever. Dude, I can't believe he's still pissed about stuff that happened last year," Puck pulled his flannel shirt off over his head and threw it into the truck.

"I can't believe he left you off this easily."

Puck shrugged as if acknowledging that Finn had a point. They worked in silence to hoist up the truck and pull off the lug nuts on the ruined tire. Finn sat back as Puck spun the tire iron.

"You know what really frosts my cookies?" Puck growled as he struggled with a particularly stubborn bolt. "I bet Sam doesn't even take chemistry."


	2. Comeuppance

AN: Wherein Puck is like a freaking yenta for hopeless dweebs. Only, you know, with a dirty mouth.

Puck fought to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head. This was moronic. On the levels of truly, mind numbingly idiotic, this evening with the Beavers would top the list. Puck watched Sam edge still closer to Kurt until he was carefully balanced on one butt cheek. He had to give Sam credit; the boy had been working Kurt for weeks now – months if you counted the "studying" play. But watching him watch Kurt…he was getting a sympathetic case of blue balls.

Across the table was bizarro land, aka the Finn and Rachel show. Frankenteen kept reaching over to touch the prima donna. His hand would hover over some innocent body part like he was diffusing a bomb. When he finally touched down, Rachel would shudder and then lean into it. Her face was the same one she wore after a performance. It was her "Yes, I deserve this" face. Puck, when he bothered to think about it, guessed that Finn was deeply masochistic. It was the only thing that explained Quinn AND Rachel AND Santana. Dude needed to learn how to love himself.

Last, but not least, Ma and Pa Hudmel were making kissing faces over beer and meatloaf. It was kinda disgusting to see two ancients getting it on like a couple of necking teenagers. On the other hand, Carole was a bit of a MILF now that Kurt had gotten ahold of her. Shit, he hoped he was still banging the hot chicks when he was as old as Mr. Hummel. He gave the old man a wink and ignored the puzzled look he got back.

Screw this. Puck didn't even know why he was here, so he might as well load up on the free food. At least the stuffing beat out Mr. Wong's cashew chicken. Reaching for another helping, he made the mistake of meeting Kurt's gaze. The younger boy shot a glance at his dad, who was busy feeding a bite to his new wife, and then rolled his eyes. Puck smirked in reply. He totally got that. And just to prove he was still a dick, Puck slid his gaze to the tottering teen on Kurt's left. Kurt followed the look and flinched backwards, nearly falling out of his own chair. Dude, this was better than Skinamax. Well, okay, maybe not that good, but this was the most fun he'd had at someone else's expense since Mercedes made him stop dumpster tossing nerds. He snickered evilly around his spoon. Kurt's head snapped around and Puck felt his blood chill a few degrees. He swallowed painfully. He hadn't forgotten his slashed tire. His gaze dropped to his plate and stayed there for the rest of his meal.

"What the hell was that?" Kurt hissed as his grip tightened on Puck's elbow.

Puck glanced down at the hand that didn't come close to wrapping around his guns. "Dude, you know I don't play that way."

"Noah." It figured Kurt had perfected the art of the mom-tone. "Keep your voice down."

"Why? Burt's still interrogating him, which, can I say, is reason number 523 that we will never date."

"You are touched in the head if you think you ever needed a list."

"I was being facetious." Puck pulled away from Kurt and went to flop on the hard-as-a-rock couch. He glanced back and noticed that Kurt hadn't moved. "Yes, I know a big word. Try not to faint."

Kurt waved his hand as if clearing the air of obnoxious fumes, or you know, waving away an argument, before coming over to perch on the arm of the couch. "Could we focus on me now? Or rather, Sam."

Puck let his head loll back so he could see Kurt's reaction when he told him, "Blondie's hot for your junk. You should totally tap that."

"Don't be crude or stupid," Kurt waspishly denied. He reached down to straighten the cuff of some fru-fru Boys-to-Men jacket. If his cheeks hadn't turned bright red, Puck might have believed he was as disinterested as he was acting. "There is no such thing as a gay football player. At least not in high school."

"Now who's being stupid? Sam definitely bats for the friends of Dorothy and he definitely likes your marshmallow behind."

Kurt punched him in the arm. "Christ, Hummel. That hurt!"

Kurt punched him again in the same spot. "Take that back right now." He cocked his arm back for a third go. "Take it back!"

Puck grabbed Kurt by the collar and hauled him into a headlock, head down into the couch. He smacked the part in question, then let Kurt up. "It's better than Santana's," he said with a shrug.

Kurt looked mad enough to spit. His hair was messed all to hell and his cheeks were flushed again. He was breathing hard too. Dude looked like somebody had been climbing that cherry tree. If somebody up there liked Sam, the blonde would be walking through the door right now.

"You asshole. How dare you put your monkey paws on me?"

"Hold the indignation, princess. I'm not done yet." He moved swiftly to get out of hitting, and on second thought kicking range, before yelling up the stairs, "Sam!"

"Noah," Kurt hissed, a hand flying to his hair.

"Leave it," Puck told him. "Trust me. If that boy doesn't jump you now, he's gonna need a roadmap for anything else you're going to do."

Kurt ran at Puck like he was going to tackle him. He easily caught the other boy's wrists, but keeping ahold of him was another story. The sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs heralded the arrival of the cavalry.

"Sam! Grab his feet." Sam smiled and gladly helped Puck wrestle Kurt onto the sofa. "Are you going to be nice if we let you go?"

"Screw you, Puckerman." Kurt's squirming efforts doubled. Puck didn't know what Kurt thought they were going to do to him, but it wasn't like he had any of his preferred instruments of torture lying around.

"Haven't we already had this conversation?" He nodded to Sam. "You know what to do."

Like a well-oiled machine, Sam let go of Kurt's legs to lay his chest over Kurt's lower half. Kurt's eyes widen in disbelief and he suddenly stopped moving. Sam, however, ignored the change and gleefully dug his fingers into Kurt's sides. Kurt shook, his body bowing upwards before Sam pressed him flat again. Together they struggled against each other. Both had started laughing. Kurt looked like he couldn't breathe, he was laughing so hard. Sam shifted a leg up onto the couch for better leverage and then rippled his fingers again along Kurt's stomach. Kurt arched, Sam pushed down, and both boys froze. Puck waited for one of them to move, but both were laying there like someone had a gun trained on them.

Puck tugged on Kurt's arms to get his attention. Kurt started, as if just now realizing he was there. "You should pony up and kiss him already."

"Kurt?" Sam queried.

Kurt closed his eyes and buried his face in the bend of his arm. "Please let me go."

Sam started to release his hold, but the look Puck shot his way stopped him. "Kurt, it's okay." When he didn't get an answer, Sam looked to Puck for further instructions. While he waited, his hands did a little walking, soothing over Kurt's side gently. One thumb was rubbing the skin between his shirt and his pants.

"Puck, Sam, please. This isn't funny anymore."

Puck let go of Kurt's hands to flick him in the nose. "Would you open your damn eyes and look at what your boy is doing?"  
The flicker of pain was enough to shock Kurt out of his misery. He glanced down out of reflex. "What are you doing, Sam?"

Sam pulled his hands away as if he had been burned.

Puck fought like super hard not to roll his eyes. "He was feeling you up."

"Sam?"

"I'm sorry." Sam shifted and Kurt's hand flew down to grab his shoulders. Delicately and without closing his eyes, Kurt leaned up to place a kiss on Sam's lips. Sam, likewise, didn't seem to want to close his eyes. When Kurt moved away, Sam followed, deepening the kiss.

"Well thank fuck for that," Puck stood.

"Go away," Kurt muttered.

"You're welcome," Puck called back as he made his way up the stairs and closer to the last of Carole's homemade cookies. A moan from each end of the scale was his only answer.

Kurt owed him now. Maybe he could help Puck get back in good with Aretha. Papa was in the mood for some chocolate thunder. This totally proved he was all rehabilitated and shit now, going out of his way to help pathetic losers, right? Wasn't that what the woman had wanted? Whatever, Puck decided. His mistake last time had been going in without a translator. This time he was going to have Ladyface as his go-between and he was going to rock her world. He started humming "Daddy's home" under his breath as he pulled out the plate of cookies and a glass of milk.


	3. Retaliation: Part 1

Sam wasn't really the vain one in this relationship, but he found himself checking his reflection constantly today. In mirrors, in windows, in shiny objects. Anything. It was getting a little ridiculous. Mostly it was because of reactions like this one.

"What the hell happened to your face?" Puck grabbed his chin and forced his eye under the light.

"I got hit by a door." Sam winced as he said it.

"In the face?" Puck was smiling now.

"Yes."

"A door hit you in the face?"

"Yes." There was no getting around it; he was going to have to explain the whole thing to his teammate. "I was walking past a math classroom and someone shoved the door open. I couldn't get a hand up in time." Sam shoved his long-sleeved tee up to his elbow, exposing a nasty black line across his forearm as proof. "Luckily, the arm saved other things."

Puck winced in sympathy, some mannish instinct making him curl his body in a little. "We've got to create a better story than, 'I walked into a door.' Otherwise, people are going to think that Hummel is fucking up your shit even more than he is already."

Sam's eyes narrowed at the slight, but decided that he had been beaten enough for one day. He glanced at a pane of glass in a nearby door; the bruise covered half of his face. His mom was going to freak. She was already convinced that he was going to end up dead in an alley because someone saw him holding Kurt's hand (she really needed to stop talking to Kurt's dad about this stuff). She would never believe that it was an accident.

"Did you see who did it?" Puck turned to face the coming traffic and the pair moved away from the lockers and towards Spanish. As they passed the French room, Sam was man enough to admit the shiver of apprehension that slipped down his spine.

"No," Sam turned his head and responded.

"Kurt is going to throw a vapor when he sees that face," Puck laughed in glee.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Kurt would kick your ass for saying that."

"No, he'd dismantle my engine, which honestly, would probably make it run better." Puck shouldered him out of the way of a flock of freshmen. "Remind me to insult him later."

They kept to the side of the hallway after that; two hulking football players parting the tide of lesser folk, Sam smiled ruefully. He wasn't that guy. He certainly wasn't a Puck kind of guy. Still, he could appreciate some of the things that his size and reputation allowed him. "I'll let him know you're bringing it by the shop."

"I can't afford that shit! Hello, have you seen what I drive?"

"He would probably teach you how fix it, if you, you know, asked him." Sam didn't add that it would probably take some major groveling on Puck's part, like say a "please", which Puck probably wouldn't be willing to give. He also didn't add that the two of them would likely kill each other if they had to stay in close company for more than an hour without anyone to play referee.

"He does owe me, but I was planning on using that for Project Hot Mamma." Puck elbowed him. "Speak of the fairy."

"Puck, seriously. Watch the mouth if you want him to help," is what he started to say, but the movement he caught out of the corner of his eye interrupted him. He was barely able to get his arm up in time, which saved his face. Unfortunately, it meant that the door hit the same exact spot as before. It also meant that nothing was protecting him from the doorknob. The line of fire erupting along his arm was competing with the ball of pain just above his groin. The combination dropped him to the ground.

He was barely aware that Puck had grabbed the door and slammed it back into the face of the person who had opened it. He heard footsteps running towards them and felt hands jerk him by the collar out of the door's path.

"Sam?" was followed by a softer, "Sam."

"Hummel, get out of the way and let me see." Puck ordered his boyfriend to one side. Soft hands and laundry detergent were replaced with chlorine and calloused fingertips. "Where did it catch you this time?"

"This time?" Sam heard in faint echo. He tried to focus his good eye on Puck's Mohawk.

"Got my arm up in time," he managed, knowing Puck would get it.

Puck translated for Kurt. "No concussion. How are the boys?"

"Probably could use some ice." His eyesight had cleared enough that he saw both Puck and Kurt wince in pain.

Kurt maneuvered around Puck to kneel at Sam's side. "We should probably get you to the nurse." He wrapped one arm around Sam's back and nodded to Puck. Puck stuck out his arm for Sam to grab and pull himself up. Sam tried to do just that, but a wash of heat and then numbness down his arm forced him to let go.

"Owwwww," was all that Sam's pride would let him say. Inside, however, he was cussing like a sailor on shore leave.

Gently, Kurt rolled up Sam's sleeve to reveal the lump growing on his arm. He and Puck shared a look before turning back to Sam. "Maybe we should just skip the nurse and take you to the doctor's."

"I'm fine you guys," Sam tried to play it off. He rolled to his side and managed to kneel then stand without assistance or moving his arm. Both boys stayed glued to his side, arms spread like he was attempting some dangerous stunt and they were determined to catch him. He only swayed a little after the head rush faded and gave them both his biggest grin. "See, I'm fine."

Kurt looked on in worry, but didn't say anything. Sam turned to smile at Puck, but the other dude just stared him down. Suddenly, the other jock lurched forward with a raised fist. Sam tried to swing an arm up to block him, but the pain made the muscles in his arm cramp up. "Fuckkk!" escaped while he was still trying to the clear the stars from his eyes. "You asshole," he told Puck.

Puck just smirked and then draped Sam's other arm over his shoulder. "Get the car started, Hummel. We'll meet you out there." Kurt took off while the pair struggled in his wake.

"Such a prick," Sam told him. He wished he could mean it.


	4. Retaliation: Part 2

Sam had to stay at home the next day. Between the phone call in the middle of the day and the black eye, his mother hadn't heard a word of Sam's story. She had tucked him in bed, arranged a pile of comic books on the nightstand, and stacked the TV remote on top. Then she had left for work. Sam had sat bored out of his mind for the rest of the day. His mom had even had the gall to suggest he stay home a couple of more days when they sat down to dinner. His unequivocal no finally convinced her otherwise because she drove him to school today.

Now Sam stood at the front entrance waiting for Kurt. He adjusted the stupid sling strap for the thousandth time that morning. The cast weighed a ton and the strap was giving him a headache. All he really wanted was to see Kurt and then sit down.

A flash of tan SUV caught his attention. He walked over to meet the car. "Kurt!" he waved.

The door opened, but Kurt didn't leap out, Finn did. "Sam! Dude! How's it hanging?"

"Limply," he flapped his wounded arm. "Where's Kurt?"

"At home." Finn carefully grabbed his cast. "This is so sweet. Can I sign it?"

"Sure," he absentmindedly handed a sharpie to Finn. "Why's he at home?"

"He had an allergic reaction yesterday." Finn signed his name with a loopy F and an H. "Mercedes was with him at the mall. They were getting smoothies and then she said Kurt started breathing funny."

Sam took the pen back from Finn and awkwardly hiked his backpack into place. "What's he allergic to?" Sam felt like a bad boyfriend for not knowing already.

"Shellfish, I think. Which is a totally weird thing to put in a smoothie, right?" Finn started walking towards the entrance with Sam in tow.

Totally weird, Sam agreed. More like totally unlikely, he decided. Probably Finn had gotten the details wrong. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's just really tired. We were at the hospital all night, plus adrenaline totally takes it out of you. I should know," Finn held open the door for Sam. "They had to give it to me once, when I was like five. We were at a picnic and I got stung by a bee. My hand swelled up to the size of a baseball." Finn held both hands up to demonstrate. "It was kinda cool." They rounded a corner and headed for their respective lockers. "But I was totally thrashed the next day. I slept like fourteen hours straight."

"I'll have to call him later."

"You could text him," Finn offered.

Sam waved his hand in answer.

"Oh, right. Hey, do you want help with your locker?"

"Thanks." Sam figured that was one less opportunity for him to look like a tool as he tried to manage left-handed. They had just reached his locker when someone clipped him in his good shoulder. The move forced him forward into Finn. Finn caught him before he could go down, but only by grabbing his bad arm. The headache that had been dancing around his neck was now trying to punch through his temples.

Sam shook Finn off with a little effort and pointed to his locker. Finn opened it and a Ken doll fell out. It was naked except for a black noose around its neck. "Wow, that is fucked up," he heard Finn whisper next to him.

Sam had to close his eyes for a moment or he was going to start crying right here in the hallway. He leaned his head against the locker next to his and let the cool metal soothe some of his raging headache. A few deep breaths later, Sam decided he could take a hint. He asked Finn to grab a few of his books from his locker and handed over his backpack for Finn to fill. While Finn did that, Sam carefully picked up the rope with his good hand and dropped the doll in the nearest trash can. He took his bag from Hudson and started walking back the way they had come.

"Where you going?" Finn jogged to catch up.

"Do you think Mr. Hummel would mind if I stayed with Kurt today?" Sam didn't slow down and hit the exit at full speed despite the surge of rushing teens.

"Probably not," Finn told him. "I can drive you."

"Thanks man." At least, Sam sighed, his mother would be happy.

Sam crept down the stairs to his boyfriend's bedroom. Burt probably wouldn't care for it, but it wasn't like Sam or Kurt were up for anything. The lights were off, so Sam had to rely on the light streaming from the lone window. He managed the trip to Kurt's bed without stumbling over anything.

"Kurt?" he nudged the nearest shoulder.

Kurt rolled onto his back and squinted up at him. "Sam?"

"Yeah," he grinned sheepishly.

"Go back to bed," the other boy ordered. He held up the blankets so Sam could crawl in. A quick pause to kick off his shoes and then Sam was curled up next to him. Sam gave him a quick peck hello. Kurt tried to return it, but hit his nose instead.

"You're not awake at all, are you?"

Sam's only answer was a subvocal groan and a pat on his chest. Sam used the hand to pull Kurt's arm across his body and rest Kurt's head on his good shoulder. Kurt moved once and then again, so Sam stroked a hand down his back. He even hummed a little phrase, something he doubted Kurt would recognize. Another full body wiggle, another swipe down the back.

"_If you want to be with me,_

_Well, with these things there's no telling,_

_We'll just have to wait and see, _

_But I'd rather be working for a paycheck_

_Than waiting to win the lottery._

_Mhmm, mhmm._

_Maybe this time is different._

_I mean I really think you'll like me._"

A finger over his lips stopped him. "Shhh," Kurt whispered into his shoulder. "Quiet now."

Sam kissed the finger and relaxed back into the pillow. "Goodnight Kurt," he whispered.

"Ssss," was the reply. Sam smiled, but kept any further comments to himself.

"What the hell?"

Bright lights made Sam jerk out of bed and subsequently run into Kurt, who was still lying across his chest. One of his arms had snuck up under Sam's shirt and been trapped by the sudden movement. Sam looked around for the source of the light and soon found Kurt's dad standing by the steps. Sam's only thought was, "Thank god I have my pants on. I have my pants on, right? Thank god."

"One of you want to explain what's going on?"

"Studying?" was the first thing that popped into Sam's head, but that old stand-by obviously wasn't going to fly. Besides, Burt had seen through that weeks ago.

"We were in the middle of having wild, passionate, monkey sex, Dad. What do you think we were doing?" Kurt tried to straighten up, which was hard to do without straddling Sam. He settled for trying to tug his arm free of Sam's shirt. His fingertips danced across Sam's skin, occasionally getting near a danger zone. Sam swallowed and glanced over at Burt. This just really wasn't his day.

Burt's face was bright red, but he was staying by the steps. "What did I tell you about having Sam over when I'm gone?"

"It was my fault, Mr. Hummel," Sam was quick to defend Kurt. "Kurt was mostly asleep when I got here."

Burt just raised one eyebrow. "Dad, give the Bruce Willis impersonation a rest. We weren't doing anything." Kurt finally freed his arm and was able to sit up. "We both still have our pants on." Kurt paused a moment. "Well, I'm pretty sure Sam does, anyway."

Sam shot Kurt a glare, before the implications caught up to him. Kurt shot him a triumphant smirk in return. "You suck," he mouthed at Kurt.

"You wish," Kurt mouthed back.

Sam turned away before his face could burn any brighter.

"Kuurrtt?" his dad drawled.

Kurt huffed a breath and threw the covers aside. Sam was relieved, and slightly disappointed, to realize that Kurt may not have been wearing pants, but he was definitely wearing boxers. He climbed over Sam and stood up. "We were resting." He started to head for the bathroom, but then turned back. "Why are you here, Sam?"

"Playing hokey?" Burt challenged.

"Mom-sanctioned hokey," Sam corrected. He related the story about bumping into Finn and then bumping into Finn. He left out the part about the doll. With any luck, the whole story would slip Finn's mind before he got home.

"How is the arm?" Burt questioned as he motioned Kurt towards the bathroom. Kurt rolled his eyes, but let himself be directed.

"Just a fracture."

"Kurt said you got hit by a door?" Burt mouth twitched suspiciously.

"Two actually." Sam ran the wrong hand through his hair, but things still felt funny, like something was sticking up in the back.

"I feel like I should be handing you a pamphlet," Burt laughed.

Sam rolled his eyes. The jokes had gotten old as soon as they started putting the cast on his arm. "Maybe just a rabbit's foot."

Burt chuckled a little more, taking his hat off to rub at the stubble on his head. "You know, after yesterday, I was a little worried that it wasn't much of an accident." He stared hard at Sam. "Was it an accident?"

"Seemed to be, yeah." Sam was really glad now that he hadn't told Kurt about the doll.

Burt paused as if waiting for Sam to continue. "Sorry," Burt laughed at himself. "Between Finn, Kurt, and Carole, I can hardly get a word in edgewise. I'm not used to havin' to do most of the talking." He motioned back up the stairs. "Why don't we wait for Kurt upstairs? This'll take a while." Sam understood what Burt really meant. No way was he leaving his precious baby boy alone in a shower with a teenage boy on the loose and only a door between them.

"Do you like Sports Center?" Burt called over his shoulder.

"Yeah," Sam replied, glad to be back on a script that he knew all of the answers to. He took it as a sign that his luck was finally changing for the better.


	5. Retaliation: Part 3

You know what they say about people who assume things? That's right. They make asses out of you and me. That was the only thing running through Sam's mind as he rushed to make it to fourth period the next day. So far today, he had tripped over air, lost his French homework out of his locker, and then gotten locked in the ball closet during gym. His luck still stank. Oh, and he was still flinching away from closed doors.

He dropped into an open seat next to Puck as the bell rang.

"Nice of you to show up."

"What are you doing here?" Sam jerked at his zipper until it was open enough for him to free his math text and notebook.

"Nurse Ratchett ratted me out to my mom. Something about how chronic migraines should be checked by a doctor. Can you believe that bullshit? It's not like she even has a real license."

Sam just nodded as he concentrated on finding his homework. He had discovered that, like ninety percent of the population, Puck would carry most of the conversation if he just nodded in the right spots.

"Dude, you wanna go see a soccer game?"

"Huh?"

Puck spared a glance to track where the teacher was, then dropped his voice. "My little sister has been begging me forever to come see her play. I figured, misery loves company, right?"

"With an invitation like that," Sam smiled. He ripped out a sheet of paper, which he handed to Puck, along with a pen. "I noticed you didn't have any."

"For a reason," Puck smirked. "So you coming?"

"Sure. You driving?"

"Doesn't the man always drive on a date?"

Sam punched him in the shoulder for that.

"Ow," Puck jerked away from him. "What the fuck?" He pulled his sleeve up to reveal a huge, fist-shaped bruise.

"I'm so sorry, man."

Puck rolled his eyes at him. "You didn't do this. My Fight Club is on Tuesday nights, remember?" Puck dropped the sleeve and tried to punch Sam in the leg.

Sam easily dodged him. "Isn't the first rule of Fight Club that you don't talk about Fight Club?"

"It's a lame rule. The whole point of joining Fight Club," Puck explained, "Is to brag about being in Fight Club."

The teacher chose that moment to walk by so Sam couldn't respond.

Puck and Sam waited outside of school for Finn and Kurt to show up. Finn usually spent five or ten minutes getting some face time with Rachel before heading home (or as Finn explained it, "Five minutes of Broadway and two minutes of making out"). Kurt simply killed time in his last class to avoid the rush in the halls. The trick, he had explained, was to wait until most of the Neanderthals had gone home, but leave before the halls were too empty. Otherwise, there would be no one to hear you scream when some slow-moving jock dragged you off to a dark corner. Sam didn't always appreciate Kurt's sense of humor.

Ten minutes dragged by as they watched their fellow students push and shove out the massive set of double doors. No Kurt, no Finn. Sam was about to go looking for them when he received the text from Kurt. "Workin on a thing for Glee. Dont wait. Sext you later luvah!"

"Dude, where are those two freaks? My sister is going to be sitting on the curb like some orphan Annie by the time we get there," Puck shifted his backpack higher.

Sam thought about the weirdly worded text. He checked the number and saw that it had come from Kurt's phone. Still, "sexting"? Sam fingered the reply button before sliding his phone back in his pocket. "Kurt and Finn had to bail. I guess Schue is making them stay after."

Puck slapped Sam on the back. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's blow this ice cream stand!"

Sam waited until Puck was in front of him to roll his eyes. He had some sense of self-preservation.

When they reached Sarah's middle school, the parking lot was almost empty. The sun had started to set and a cold breeze was kicking leaves across the sidewalk. There was no little girl waiting for them on the curb. Puck grunted, the leather of the steering wheel creaking as he tightened his grip. He threw the truck into park and tried to peer through the main entrance doors.

"She knows she's supposed to be waiting for me," Sam heard Puck mutter. "Watch the truck," he told Sam and then jumped out. He watched Puck run into the building before leaning over to close the door that Puck had left open. He took his phone out to stare at that bizarre message again. It was several moments before he opened a reply window. He still hesitated. If Kurt was fine, he was going to feel really stupid. He decided to keep it light. "Luvah? If that's the way you want to play it, my little hobbit." He grimaced. He was going to be eating crow for awhile if this really was Kurt. That boy did not like jokes about his shoe size.

The sound of a door slamming in the distance caught his attention even as he slid his phone into his pocket. He watched as Puck stormed back to the truck.

"My sister left already," Puck told him without preamble. He jerked the stick shift into first and peeled out of the parking lot.

"So, we're going to the soccer game?"

"Yeah," Puck muttered. His speed picked up and he threw the car into the next gear. It was no surprise that they reached the park in minutes.

Small swarms of color wandered up and down the three soccer fields. Puck, however, seemed to know exactly which one he wanted. He strode across the field, making others jump out of his way. Sam followed as quickly as he could, flashing an apologetic smile.

"Sarah!" Puck shouted when he reached the sideline. A little black-haired girl whipped her ponytail around at the sound of her name. She waved to Puck before running after the girl with the ball. She sideswiped her and stole the ball. Sam laughed at mini-Puck's actions. He looked over at Puck, expecting to see him cheering her on proudly, but he wasn't there. Instead, Puck was thundering across the field towards his little sister. She never saw him coming. He looped one arm around her waist even as he passed the ball to one of her teammates. The ref and parents alike shouted about interference. Sarah kicked out as her brother hauled her back to the sidelines, but Puck ignored everyone's protests.

Puck dropped her on a picnic table. "Where the hell were you?"

"You were late," Sarah spit back. "I got a ride."

"That doesn't matter. It's me or Mom, always. You don't get rides from anybody else."

Sarah rolled her eyes so hard, Sam feared they would get stuck. "I'm not a moron," she told Puck. "He said he was a friend of yours, that you told him to come get me." Sarah's voice wavered on that last word. She looked from her brother's face to Sam's as if she was just realizing that something was wrong. "He had a letterman's jacket on," Sarah tried to explain. "I've seen him play football with you."

"Did he give you a name, this friend of mine?" Puck growled.

"K-something? He was really tall," She shrugged. "I don't know. He's your friend."

"Not my friend, Sarah." Puck surprised them both by sweeping his sister into a hug. "From now on, you wait inside like we talked about. Only me or Mom."

"Got it," Sarah whispered into Puck's shoulder.

They moved apart as quickly as they had hugged. "Get your stuff."

Sarah looked back at the game still playing behind them, opened her mouth as if to protest, then grabbed Puck's hand instead. "Come with."

Any other day, Sam would have ribbed Puck endlessly about being led around by a seventh grader. Today, he checked his watch and then his phone, wishing they would hurry up.


	6. Retaliation: Part 4

Puck didn't protest when Sam asked to be let off at the high school. He didn't even wait for Sam to reach the entrance before peeling out. Sam watched him leave and then checked the lot for Kurt's Range Rover. He spotted it over off to the side, next to the teachers' stalls. He felt some tension leave his shoulders. He was probably just overreacting, he told himself.

The halls were quiet. Most of the students had gone home. He passed an occasion classroom with the lights still on, but even most of the teachers had abandoned the building for the night. His shoes squeaked against the linoleum as he took the last right before the choir room.

The choir room, like so many other classrooms, was dark. He tried the doors, but they were locked. Feeling silly, he spared a glance through the windows just to double-check that the room was empty. Nothing.

Maybe he had just missed them. He called Kurt's cell. No answer. He tried Finn's. It went to voicemail, but he could hear a sharp trill coming from down the hallway. "Finn?" he called.

He called Finn's cell again, trying to get a fix on where the sound was coming from. He took a left, wandering deeper into the darkened school hallways. "Finn?" He called the cell again and followed the ringing several more yards until he reached a janitor's closet. "Finn?"

No answer. He tried the doorknob and was knocked off of his feet by a falling body. His vision exploded when he hit the floor, his arm screaming in protest. He tried to shift the weight off of him, but the body wouldn't move. He moaned in trapped panic, his mind flashing back to zombie movies and murder mysteries and dead bodies falling and blood covering the floor. Oh god, Finn was dead and his dead weight was going to suffocate Sam. "Help!" came out as a whisper, but the sound of his own voice had a galvanizing effect. The next came out as a full-bodied scream. "Help!" And then he couldn't stop.

"Sam?"

"Help me. Please help me," he called back.

"Sam?" The voice echoed back from the direction Sam had originally taken. He craned his neck trying to see who was answering. The voice was still too far away, but he could tell when the man saw them because the footsteps picked up speed.

"Oh my…Sam?" A body slid into them. "Finn?"

"Mr. Schue? I can't move him. Please, let me up. Please."

Schue's hand found Sam's and squeezed. "Just relax. I need to check Finn before I move him."

"Why? Finn's dead. Please, just let me up."

"What?" Mr. Schue dug two fingers into Finn's neck, feeling for a pulse. "Oh, thank you, Cheesus." His hand gripped Sam's. "He's alive, Sam. It's okay." Schue laughed. "He's okay."

"Could you move him? Please. I can't breathe." Sam started to shove at Finn again, no longer able to fight back his rising claustrophobia.

"It's okay. It'll be okay." Sam didn't really care. He just wished Schue would hurry up. Finally, the weight above him shifted. Sam could breathe again. Sam scuttled back away from Finn and Schue until he hit the far wall. He could feel the air whistling in and out, but he didn't care. He could breathe again. Sam let his head fall back, trying to get even more air into his lungs.

"Finn. Finn, can you hear me? Sam, what happened?"

Sam didn't answer right away. He was still savoring the sweet taste of air.

"Sam?"

"He," Sam blinked in an attempt to focus. "He fell on me. I couldn't move him."

"I got that, Sam. Why did he fall on you?"

"I opened the door and he fell out."

"How's your arm?"

Sam looked down at his arm in confusion. He realized it should hurt, but too much was going on to pay it any attention. "Fine."

He watched as Schue shook Finn again. "I can't get him to wake up. I'm calling 911." Schue patted down his jeans looking for something. "Do you have your phone with you?"

"Yeah," Sam dug into his own pocket for it and handed it over. "I was trying to check on Kurt when I found Finn." Damnit, he banged his head back against the wall. The explosion of stars in his field of vision was a gentle reminder that his poor skull had been knocked around enough recently, thank you. He waited for it to pass before trying to stand.

"Just sit down, Sam. I want the paramedics to look you over too."

"Mr. Schue, I've got to find Kurt." He explained about the bizarre message and Puck's sister. "If Finn's here, Kurt's all alone."

Schue glanced around in obvious frustration at the situation. "Hand me Finn's phone."

Sam reached into the closet and tossed the phone to Schue. He also noticed a familiar blue bottle nearby. "This would knock me out like a light," he held up the bottle. "You think they dosed him?"

"Let's hope that's all it is." Schue caught the bottle as well. "Keep your phone on you and call when you find him. If I don't hear from either of you before the EMTs get here, I'm calling the cops."

"That might be a good idea anyway."

Schue smiled tightly and held up Finn's phone. "Keep it on."

Sam nodded, tucking his phone back in his pocket.

Once out of earshot of Schue, Sam's nerves returned. He could also feel the deep, penetrating ache in his shoulder that meant he was due for another pain pill. He shrugged it off. The body was temporary, he reminded himself, and stumbled into a jog. The end of the hallway split, with the left leading towards more classrooms, the right leading towards the gym and locker rooms. He hated to guess why, but his gut was telling him to turn right first. "Kurt?"

He wasn't surprised at the lack of answer. He tried the girls' room first, but it was empty. So was the gym. He found Kurt's cell phone in pieces outside of the boys' locker room. He ignored them and the brown leather satchel nearby. "Kurt?" He picked up speed as he hit the door to the locker room. "Kurt?"

"Sam?"

"Kurt?"

"Over here." The voice had come from the small mesh enclosure that Coach used to lock up the equipment. Sam broke into a run that made his head swim. He ignored it.

"Kurt," Sam's lungs finally relaxed at the sight of the other boy. Kurt stood to meet him, tangling fingers together through the wire mesh.

"Sam, oh thank Gaga. I've had to pee for the last half hour." Sam laughed weakly, more out of relief than anything. "Is Finn okay?"

Sam nodded, but concentrated on their interlocked hands for a moment. "What happened to you guys?"

"I don't know," Kurt told him. "Finn's had that head cold, you know, so I gave him some of my emergency Nyquil. He started bobbing and weaving after that." Kurt swallowed and looked down at his feet. Sam followed his gaze, noticing for the first time that Kurt didn't have shoes on. "Too loud," Kurt answered. "I heard noises, and people shouting my name. Making threats. I didn't want Finn to get caught up in my mess, so I stuffed him in the closet and told him to stay quiet, then I ran to lead them away. I guess it worked?"

Sam nodded. "Finn's fine," he reminded the other boy.

"They chased me down here. I guess I wasn't thinking very well because I ended up in here. I thought the cage would be perfect. They just laughed and broke a pen off in the lock."

"Who?

"They were wearing masks. I don't know."

Sam pressed a kiss to Kurt's forehead through the bars. "You're okay?"

"Yes. You?"

"Finn fell on me," Sam admitted. Kurt, being the kind and loving boyfriend that he was, tried to hold back his laughter at that image, but it didn't last long.

"Don't worry. He'll still respect you in the morning," Kurt kissed his hand in apology for the laughter.

Sam pulled away after a moment. "I should call Schuester. Let him know where we are." Thankfully, the conversation that followed was brief. He related the bare bones of Kurt's story, before ending with, "We'll be waiting for you."

"I'm ready for another nap," Sam told Kurt. Kurt sighed, tugging his hand free first. "Soon," he promised. Sam smiled back at the other man, already updating the countdown until Spring Break. "Soon."

Finn, it turned out, was lucky to still be breathing. The deadly combination of codeine and Nyquil and tranquilizers had only been partly negated by Finn's enormous stature. The rest had been negated by a weak-willed poisoner, uncertain of the dosages. He or she had only put in one of each pill. As a result, Finn never developed the respiratory complications that came from OD-ing on sedatives. He did, however, sleep for the next twenty-four hours.

Sam and Kurt spent the hours telling and retelling the story of how Sam ended up on the floor, positive that his boyfriend's brother was dead. First, they had to tell the nurse with the ponytail that was falling down. Then there was the police officer that tried to make them wait for their parents to get there. Then they had to play it all back for Kurt's dad, Sam's mom, and Finn's mom. When the rest of the glee club got there, they would have to tell it yet one more time. Kurt, tired and leaning on Sam's shoulder, suggested they type up a press release.

"It would save us time," he giggled.

"I was just going to suggest not calling them," Sam laughed back.

"Schue has probably already alerted them."

"Yeah," Sam sighed. He shifted his sling out of its groove in his shoulder, trying to find a less bruised position. The doctor had recast it after they discovered the crack in the original. She had also given him a prescription for pain medication, the bottle was currently digging into his thigh, but he was trying to wait to take one. He didn't want to leave Kurt alone to face the incoming horde. He pressed a little closer to Kurt, trying to find a curve that let him touch his boyfriend and eased the ache of too many new bruises.

Kurt shifted away. "Come on." He stood up and then dragged Sam to his feet as well. With an arm wrapped around his waist, Kurt guided them over to a low couch on the far wall. Together they managed to arrange themselves so that Kurt could sit at one end and Sam could lie down on his back, his head in Kurt's lap and his knees hooked over the far armrest. "Better?"

"Much."

They fell asleep in that position, "For, like, hours," Artie assured them. "Snoozeville City," Mike agreed. The club even had evidence of it, because "you two are just too freakin' adorable all drugged up and passed out." She took great delight in passing the picture around to anyone who would look at her phone. At the time, Sam was simply glad to be safe and warm and to feel Kurt carding his fingers through his hair.


End file.
